


Black

by Skylark42



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Quentin Coldwater, Idiots in Love, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quentin in high heels, Top Eliot Waugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark42/pseuds/Skylark42
Summary: He looks beautiful like this, like something from a dream.  Eliot thinks he tells him so, he can't be sure, he's babbling nonsense at him, telling him how much he loves him, how he's never leaving him again, that they'll never fight.  It isn't true—fifty years of another life tell him that; they'll fight like any other couple, but they'll make up.  They always did.  They always will





	Black

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime vaguely in the future in a world where Quentin is alive.

Quentin doesn't  really  even remember what the fight was about. Something stupid and trivial, but both of them had said things that were hurtful.

He wanted to find a way to make things right, so he went to Julia for advice. Her first suggestion had been to apologize and talk things out. But talking was hard and he didn't know how angry Eliot still felt.  Julia's second suggestion had been even more out of Quentin's comfort zone, but she had promised it would work .

Which is how he finds himself wearing strappy black heels and black lace panties, texting Eliot at two in the morning asking him to come over .

///

It's been three days since Eliot spoke to Quentin. They had a bad fight, and he's been sleeping on Margo and Josh's couch. Margo, the traitor, has taken Quentin's side. She's kicking him out in the morning, sending him back home. He wonders if Kady and Alice will take him in. He wonders if Quentin has been staying with Julia and Penny. As a last ditch effort, there is always Todd.

His phone vibrates with a text. A text from Quentin.

_ Come over. We need to talk. _

Well fuck, that's never anything good. Are there any other four words in the English language worse than we need to talk? Still, hope blooms in his heart.  Maybe  Quentin  is tired  of fighting and they're going to make up. He misses him  terribly . Margo says he hasn't stopped brooding since he got here.

He doesn't take time to overthink it; he  just  goes.  He drives faster than is safe, and  barely  restrains himself from running up the stairs to their apartment . Quentin answers after the first knock and Eliot's breath leaves his body.

Quentin is wearing a pair of high heels with straps that lace up over his calves. His calves that are  surprisingly  hair-free. There's a black silk robe open to show how little he's wearing underneath. No shirt or pants, only a pair of black lace panties with a tiny little bow. His hair is shiny, and from the slight dampness, Eliot can guess it's  freshly  washed. His bottom lip looks red, like he's been biting it. No, not from biting it, he's wearing lip stain. Eliot feels his mouth go dry. Quentin leans against the door with an arm held up in a pose that's more awkward than sexy. But that's  just  so Quentin it turns him on more. “Wanna come inside?”

And oh, that is a corny innuendo, but the answer is _god, yes_, and _please_. Eliot nods; words are of a higher brain function that he is capable of. Quentin steps back to let him in and Eliot follows like he's being lead by a leash. “You look...”

Quentin blushes; it goes down his whole chest. It looks lovely. “I missed you,” he says and steps closer, and fuck, did Eliot miss him too.  Quentin holds eye contact—something that's always hard for him—and slides the robe off his shoulders . It pools to the floor. “I need you,” Quentin says.

It sounds rehearsed, like Quentin practiced saying it before he came over. The thought tug at Eliot's heart. Rehearsed or not, it's hot as hell. “Fuck, baby. Come here.”

Quentin launches himself at him and Eliot meet him halfway. Their mouths collide and Eliot's hands find Quentin's hips, slide down and lift. Quentin moves to help him, legs wrapping around his waist and he can feel the heels dig into the small of his back. He likes the pain, it grounds him in the moment, in the feel of Quentin warm and wanting in his arms. Quentin's arms are around his neck, fingers buried in his hair and clinging, as if afraid he lets go Eliot will leave. It's a pointless fear; Eliot is never leaving him again, not ever. He backs them into the nearest wall and tears away from Quentin's mouth to lave kisses down his neck. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” Quentin makes a high, needy sound and Eliot bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Shouldn't have left, I'm so sorry. So sorry, baby. Forgive me, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Yeah, yes, I'm sorry too,” Quentin says, drags him back up for another kiss. It's messy and wet and perfect.

Eliot's hands slide down to caress Quentin's lace-clad ass. “These are killing me. Do you have any idea how you look?”

“Ridiculous?”

“Sexy as hell.”

Quentin blushes. After all this time, he still blushes at praise. “You don't look so bad yourself.”

He's wearing a tee-shirt and the sweatpants he sleeps in. He'd never leave the house in sweatpants for anyone but Quentin. “Liar.”

He kisses Quentin before he can argue.  He moves them through the apartment with his eyes closed by memory until they reach the bedroom, their bedroom . He finally breaks away from the kiss to open the door. Quentin starts mouthing at his jaw in a very distracting way.

Eliot crosses the room and deposits Quentin on the bed. He leans over him and peers down, eyeing him head to foot. “Let me look at you.”

He goes to Quentin's feet, looking  absolutely  delectable in those heels. He slides a hand soft and slow up his calf, the skin smooth and supple beneath his palm.  He nuzzles his face against the juncture of Quentin's knee and Quentin makes an approving little hum  . Eliot trails wet open kisses up Quentin's thigh and Quentin gasps.  He mouths over his cock through the lace, licking and laving until the fabric sticks to Quentin and he can taste the pre-come soaking through the fabric . Quentin squirms beneath him. “Eliot, please.”

Eliot nips his inner thigh  gently . “Please what?”

Usually Quentin gets flustered and embarrassed at this point. Eliot finds it endearing.

“Fuck me,” Quentin rasps, hoarse and needy. Definitely better than endearing. Eliot yanks the panties over Quentin's hips. He thinks he hears a seam rip. It doesn't matter—they have magic they can fix them. They get caught on the heels and he has to untangle them. He tosses them over his shoulder and looks Quentin over. He wants to fuck him through the mattress, but first things first. “How do you get these things off?”

Quentin props up on his elbows, face flushed. “Er, I don't know? Julia had to help me get them on. I've been wearing them all day until I worked up the nerve to text you.”

Eliot laughs “What?”

“Yeah, my feet are killing me.”

“Aw, poor baby. I'll have to give you a foot massage later.” He's only half teasing.

“I'd rather you give me your dick.” Eliot likes this new, forward side of Quentin.

“Babe, I'm trying.”

“Forget the shoes, we'll figure them out after.”

Eliot feels a little hazy. “You mean leave them on while we...”

“Yes.”

“I should take a picture of you like this.”

“Don't push your luck.”

Eliot grins. “I  really  did miss you.”

“I know,” Quentin says, smiling  fondly .

Eliot slips a hand up between Quentin's legs and back. He takes a sharp, surprised breath. Quentin's already slick and stretched out inside. “Oh, Q...”

Quentin is blushing  furiously . “I didn't feel like waiting once you got here.”

“You're perfect, have I told you that?” Eliot says.  He settles between Quentin's spread thighs and takes a steadying breath before lining himself up  .  He sinks in  slowly  , inch by inch, Quentin's nails clawing into his shoulders until he finally bottoms out . “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He doesn't want to rush things and hurt Quentin, but the scrape of a heel at his back lets him know Quentin is ready for him to move  . He rolls his hips forward and they both groan.  He rocks into Quentin,  gently  ,  gently  ,  gently  until those nails dig into his shoulders  sharply  and Quentin says his name like a plea, all want and desperation .

He lets loose and fucks into Quentin deep and slow; he wants this to last, doesn't think it will. He wants too much, has missed and longed for Quentin's touch too  desperately  .  He drives into Quentin hard, hard enough to have him sliding up the bed, enough he needs to throw back an arm to brace against the headboard  .  Quentin is making half-choked out little sounds, like he can't catch his breath enough to let out an entire moan  . His ankles  are locked  around Eliot's waist, digging into the small of his back. His hand is clawing at the nape of Eliot's neck; there will be scratches there tomorrow.

He looks beautiful like this, like something from a dream. Eliot thinks he tells him so, he can't be sure.  He's babbling nonsense at him, telling him how much he loves him, how he's never leaving him again, that they'll never fight . It isn't true—fifty years of another life tell him that; they'll fight like any other couple, but they'll make up. They always did. They always will.

He buries his face in Quentin's neck and breathes in the smell of him, the smell of home. Quentin is getting close, he can tell by that certain hitch in his breath, by the grip of his thighs. He reaches down and wraps a hand around him  reverently . “Come for me, baby.”

Quentin comes with a cry, his whole body arching, tears shining in his eyes. Eliot follows after him, his orgasm so intense he sees stars behind his eyelids. He falls forward, shifting  just  enough not to crush Quentin. He lays with his head in Quentin's neck, basking in the afterglow. Quentin shifts beneath him and Eliot kisses him, slow and lazy.

“Hey El?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you help me get these things off?”

**Author's Note:**

> So it ended up more sappy than I intended. These two do that to me. Anyway, kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
